Page 111 of Three Hockey Hotties

I know she does. And loving me has brought her a lot of pain.

“I love you too, Mom.”

We disconnect and I realize that it’s getting dark in my apartment, but I can’t make myself get up and turn the lights on. I snuggle deeper into the couch cushion and realize that I have missed two phone calls, and I have four texts from Benjamin.

Dammit. He’s worried.

Well, he’s not as worried as he could be. As far as I know, I am healthy at the moment.

I send a quick text with a total lie in it. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

Then I shut off my phone.

CHAPTER 23

DASH

“Dash?”

I sag against the kitchen counter when Abby answers the phone, relief coursing through me.

We haven’t seen her since we all arrived at the arena together yesterday for the Stick It To Cancer event. She also hasn’t picked up our calls, though she did group text us to tell us about the little boy who died of cancer and to tell us that she just needs some time to deal with that.

Obviously, we have all been worried sick.

We’re trying to respect her need for space, but it’s slowly killing us.

“Abby girl,” I say, struggling to keep my tone light.

Kane straightens from where he was hunched over the kitchen island, and Benjamin stops mid-stride in his pacing and whirls to face me.

We’ve all been climbing the walls and snapping at one another in our worry.

I nearly took Kane’s head off this morning when he took the last sausage link, and I thought Benjamin was going to send a chair through the wall when he bumped into it on his way to the pantry.

I literally had to restrain Kane from going to Abby's last night, but it was incredibly difficult, not because Kane can overpower me, but because I wanted to go just as badly.

Kane had to take Benjamin’s keys from him and hide them.

Benjamin had to threaten to call and warn Abby if I stepped outside of the house before she agreed to see us.

As usual, we’re keeping each other in check, and when one of us is losing his mind, at least one of the others is keeping his shit together.

So far.

I don’t know how much longer that can last.

“I know you’re worried,” she says before I can say anything else.

“Of course we are, but we understand you needed some time. I’m calling to invite you over for lunch,” I tell her, keeping my tone even.

It’s early afternoon, and we have a game tonight, but we need to see her in private before then.

“You’re sweet,” she says.

I can hear a heaviness in her tone. Fatigue, sadness—things I want and need to fix.

“Let us come get you,” I say.